


of masks & coordinates

by mydestination



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Masquerade, Space Virgins in Love, The Force Ships It, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering, and so does leia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 22:38:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13668762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydestination/pseuds/mydestination
Summary: Leia shuts her eyes, bracing herself for her next words. “We need to appeal to the sponsors.”A pause.“Okay,” Rey hedges. “Why is this a problem?”She meets Rey’s puzzled gaze, lips pursed like she tasted something bad. “We have to attend a masquerade ball.”—To Rey's reluctance, she attends a masquerade and Kylo Ren crashes it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the masquerade is set a couple months after the events of TLJ

Rey still doesn’t understand why she has to do this.

 

She is currently poised on a raised platform, arms spread on either side and back ramrod straight as the seamstress-droids costume her. She discreetly cracks her toes and they fuss around her in dismay, their beeps blending into a homogenous drone.

 

“I’m sorry,” she groans. “I’ve been standing here for hours!” she pauses. “There isn’t—er—bathroom breaks during this?”

 

One of the rose-gold droids, the leader she assumes by the rather candid hot-pink hairpiece, beeps indignantly at her. Rey winces, the droid raises her speakers to 105 decibels. “Okay—yes, I understand. No, _no_ it’s not necessary for you to repeat… Now that was a bit mean.” She finishes after the droid delivers a cutting whistle on her coarse upbringing. Rey resumes her earlier position in spite of the fact that her muscles scream at her to let go. One droid pulls rather roughly at her hair and her scalp burns. “Ow,” she mutters, but the droids only hiss at her to quiet down. Rey reflects on how she got into this tenacious situation. After the disheartening battle on Crait, General Leia called an emergency mass meeting to assess their depleted numbers and plans moving forward.

 

“It is with a heavy heart that I am standing before you all in the echoes of a crippling loss instead of a resounding victory.” Even stripped of a podium, tendrils of gray-streaked hair escaping her intricate braid, her voice elucidates power. Her small stature belies a commanding presence. “I want to take a moment to honor those who have died fighting for our liberation.” She draws a deep breath and lists of the Resistance members who have passed. “Admiral Ackbar,” each name infused with compassion. “…Paige Tico,” she sees Finn draw the unconscious girl from earlier into his arms, “…Admiral Holdo.” Everyone on the _Falcon_ is silent, mourning their loss and clamoring for hope. Some of the Resistance flicker their eyes to her as if she is the beacon of light that would save them all.

 

“Their sacrifice was made in hope for the galaxy. That there will not be weapons made to kill off billions. That peace will return. That the Light _will_ defeat the darkness. I ask you all not to let their sacrifice be in vain. Because of we continue to _believe_ in hope, then the Dark has not won.”

 

Someone mutters in the crowd. “So what,” he flings his arms out, “we just follow you to our deaths on the principle of hope? There’s less than a hundred strong here and the First Order has amassed thousands of Stormtroopers in their arsenal. What you’re asking for General is for us to sign off on our inevitable suicide.” There’s a ripple in the crowd, murmurs of agreement and shouts of dissent.

 

The turn of atmosphere surprises Rey. The darkness that people have kept locked and hidden festered into a blanket of decay. She felt as if she couldn’t breathe.

 

“ _No,”_ the statement is imbued with the Force. The extraneous chatter stills. It strikes Rey how old Leia looks right now, holding her fingers to her temple as she attempts to equilibrate herself. “I am not asking you all to follow the Resistance blindly into a massacre. Don’t mistake my earlier speech and as some sickly-sweet war mantra that spells your deaths. I hear your pain—the entire galaxy hears you—and the First Order, the people that took our comrades away, brothers, sisters” she meets Rose’s gaze, “our lovers, and our daughters and sons—they’ll all hear us too.”

 

There is no room for any protest this time. The Resistance is awestruck by their leader, many with their eyes shining. She startles to find a sheen of tears reflected in her own gaze. She assures herself that it’s for their General who has felt the loss of her brother, husband and, to the Dark, her son. But she isn’t sure.

 

Several hours later, she is sitting at a round table in a makeshift meeting room that they relegated on the _Falcon._ Leia snorts derisively. “I can’t imagine what Han would think about us taking liberties over his precious ship,” she slides in a chair to Rey’s left. “It makes me more excited than a lot of things have been for quite some time.” For a second, she imagines what Leia must have been like in her youth, a smarmy mouthed princess with a smuggler and moisture-farmer on her side, fighting against the galaxy.

 

Finn and Poe sat around the table as well as a few other Resistance fighters she has yet to glean the names of. “Okay,” Leia starts, “you must be wondering why I called you guys here for an additional briefing.” Poe doesn’t say anything, but Rey can tell from the stiffening of his shoulders that he is aching to know. “The lack of anyone answering our call on Crait pose two problems for us. One, the most obvious, the galaxy is losing hope. The other is that we are lacking funds. Severely.”

 

Rey blinked. She had never considered the obstacle of money. It seemed like something so minute in the face of the galaxy’s survival.

 

“To even _hope_ we have a chance of defeating the First Order we need weapons. Discounting some scattered bases, we have an embarrassingly low number of ships at our disposal. An even lower number of pilots,” Poe leans back against his seat, arms folded. Rey expects he must be thinking of the lives he unwittingly lost in his impulsivity. “We need to recruit more fighters. Freedom from their oppressors is certainly a good foundation to start from, but money helps too.” Leia shuts her eyes, bracing herself for her next words. “We need to appeal to the sponsors.”

 

A pause.

 

“Okay,” Rey hedges. “Why is this a problem?”

 

She meets Rey’s puzzled gaze, lips pursed like she tasted something bad. “We have to attend a masquerade ball.”

 

As Rey puckers her lips for a stuffy droid to apply rouge, she regrets acquiescing to Leia on this ridiculous proposition. There is no way she can ever fit in the starchy upper-elite. Her, a scavenger from the arid desert of Jakku. A nobody from nowhere. 

 

She angles her head to the right—letting her dressers apply powder to her cheeks. The harsh lights of the dresser blind her. She blinks to remove the black spots in her vision when she feels the pressure in her ears. She sees the beginnings of a shadowy outline manifest. Its form hunched over.

 

_No._

 

She immediately sets up her mental blocks. Jedi envision different things to create their mental blocks. Luke, in his brief tutelage, grudgingly admitted that he builds the molten core of twin stars, Rey erects mountains. She starts with its plateau, a swirl of varying browns of sedimentary rock, and manipulates its form like clay until it becomes something formidable, nearly touching the clouds.

 

Breathe in. Breathe out.

 

It’s a delicate process, constructing a barrier between them and the bridging of their minds. She thinks it would get easier, closing him off, but it doesn’t. It’s draining. By the time she has carefully constructed a mental wall between them, she is physically wrung out. Her arms are leaden and it’s trying to catch her breath. She can’t do much else but sit with fingers pressed to her forehead until she regains function. Even with the mental barrier, it’s not strong enough to eliminate him completely. She has only drawn a thin curtain between them. Their forms might be concealed, but she swears she feels the press of his heated gaze and the bond crackles around her until its predetermined end.

 

Still, she does whatever she can to block him. She will not, _cannot_ , even allow him the luxury of seeing her—after what he _did._ He had an opportunity to join the light, to fight beside her. Gods, she risked her life to travel to see him in person. After he killed Snoke, the certainty that he would renounce the Dark reached a crescendo within her. She thought… she thought—

 

She presses her lips together. Breathe in. Breathe out.

 

She absolutely _refuses_ to become a liability for the Resistance. Not when she has a place where she can finally claim any semblance of a home. People who rely on her, trust her. She promises she’ll prove that their faith in her wasn’t an oversight. She won’t fail them.

 

Rey sees the hazy outline begin to solidify, rising from its seat.

 

A disembodied voice, _Rey—_

_GET OUT!_ She uses whatever remaining strength she can muster and _pushes._ The outline blurs into the unforgiving shroud of darkness until it blends into it.

 

She is straining to catch her breath by the time it’s over. No, blocking him out hasn’t gotten any easier. She reaches to wipe her nose, her fingers coming off red.

 

It’s gotten harder.

 

The droids around her are finally rendered mute. If they had a humanoid mouth, she swears that theirs would be agape.

 

Rey clears her throat. “Well?”

 

Without preamble, they begin to circle her and continue their task. The head droid, rather unkindly, informs Rey that after her ‘episode’ they would need to reapply paint to her lips. After muttering a few choice words in her head, Rey resigns herself to their venture.

 

By the time the droids have fastened the last of the elaborate knots of her dress, the remnants of light on this planet have been eclipsed by punctuating darkness. The head droid, KR-6, it had eventually shared (they formed a begrudging truce), ushered her to another room adorned with mirrors. Squeezed into atrocious shoes, she followed KR-6 like a new-born fawn. KR-6 stood in the corner while Rey surveyed her reflection. She blinked. She doesn’t recognize herself. KR-6 practically _preened_ in the corner while Rey tried to connect the memory of herself with the stranger standing in front of her. Rey was never one for vanity. In her hovel on Jakku, the closest item she had resembling a mirror was the metallic bowl she used to eat all her portions on. There was no point in dawdling in her appearance, not when she was living from one meal to the next. It was to her benefit to look repellent to dissuade some of the more degenerate men that would visit the Niima Outpost.

 

She is fashioned with a gold ballroom gown, its train extending into a sparkling circle behind her. The dress is strapless, with an internal corset accentuating her meager assets. Her modest half knot was favored for a showy coiffure; a few curls frame her cheeks. But it is Rey’s face that gives her the most pause, her skin was applied with several products to give her desert-worn skin a shimmery sun-kissed look. Her lips are painted a deep red that form a heart and her eyes are outlined with kohl that highlight the green in her eyes. She hates it. With clean, smooth skin and clothes of grandeur, the girl in front of her weaves a history of an easy life. She is unashamed of the scars she gained from scavenging because it shows that she _survived._

KR-6, mistaking the hardening of her eyes for awe, animatedly informs her that she has saved the “best for last.” Rey found herself reaching for the object that released from one of KR-6’s compartment. The article is golden, more burnished than the one of her gown. It’s made of a hard, wiry material with intricate swirls woven in. There are two puncture wounds in the shape of almonds within in. Flipping it around in her hand, Rey asks, “What is it?”

 

KR-6 beeped helplessly in a way that implied that it had given up on Rey.

 

Rey’s eyes widened. “This is the mask? I was thinking it would something more,” she waves a hand around her face, “this is much tinier than I expected.” With a final puzzled look, she puts the mask on. The holes almost uncannily fit over her eyes with the ends curling into a delicate spiral. It’s unequivocally beautiful. Even KR-6 smug expression can’t detract from her transformation. Rey examines her reflection with a new perspective. With the addition of the mask, she doesn’t have to be Rey, scavenger from Jakku. It’s fitting—she’s only playing a certain caricature to woo the sponsors. Her mask becomes her armor for a different kind of battle.

 

Rey had already stumbled twice and the festivities had barely begun. This year, the masquerade ball is set on a spaceship 11,000 standard units of measure in the air overlooking the city of Coruscant. The spaceship itself is wrapped in glass. Even in her pithy experience outside of Jakku, she had never seen a city before and Rey marveled at the blanket of glittery lights she spots from her view above. She wonders if anyone else is looking up at her too.

 

She presses her face against the glass, the breadth of the wonders of this universe takes her breath away. To become an icon of peace… a Jedi… is never a path she believed existed, much less envisioned for herself. She fogs the glass, watching as her breath condensed on the plane. With her index finger, she writes ‘Free.’

 

“It’s beautiful.”

 

For an instant, Rey wonders if General Leia is talking about her scribble. She sees Leia staring at the sprawling city with longing. “Coruscant.”

 

“Yes,” Rey lifts her fingers from the glass, seeing the residual of her imprint disappear. “It is. General—“

 

“Leia.”

 

“Leia,” Rey huff imperceptibly. “I don’t know if I can do this. I have no experience with making conversation with these types of people. There’s no way I can manage to pull off a certain role to convince them to fundraise or donate or whatever to us.”

 

“I’m not asking you to play a character, Rey. I want you to be you.” She clasps her hands loosely in front of her dress. “I am getting old Rey and I have seen enough charades that can last more than one lifetime. I have made mistakes in my life that I deeply regret… mistakes that I don’t want to see repeat with you.” She meets her eyes. “If you want to do this Rey, then I believe you can do this.”

 

“I—Thank you, General. I’ll try my best.”

 

“Leia,” she corrects. “Give ‘em hell, kid.”

 

Somewhat more inspirited, Rey makes her way over to the refreshments.  She noticed, in her periphery, caterers unveiling the assortment of food items at the table. Each delicacy was marked with bright colors and piled in grandiose styles. Rey had never seen so much food in her life. Even in at the Resistance base—and for a brief time, Luke’s—the food is carefully rationed, with specific times set to eat. She attempts to weave through the swelling crowd of the bourgeois. Rey bumps into a circle of giggling Twi’lek women. They were dressed similarly to her, but the curve of their hips and bosom seem more appropriate in their voluptuous form. There is a range of creatures at the event, each more powdered and draped with gaudy ornaments than the next. Rey stiffens as she marched past a Hutt, its bulging eyes flicking between the food and the Twi’lek women. The people at this event make Unkar Plutt look like humble fish-nun in comparison.

 

Rey finds that her novel glee waning. Does she want to do this? These are the very same people that Unkar Plutt works for. They take their wealth off the backs of the impoverished workers. She thinks of the rare children she sees on Jakku, strenuously laboring under the hot sun for an entire day for a half-portion of sustenance to keep them going until the next day. In the meantime, the people here bask in decadence, profiting from their hard work. She thinks of all the hungry youths in all the planets—galaxies—that they use. Now, she feels her empty stomach roll, now she’ll be asking them to give that money to _her_.

 

Rey shakes out of her musings. She still won’t pass up a table topped with free food.

 

Staring down the stretch of table, Rey doesn’t know where to start. Her hands twitch, scavenger ingrained behavior surfacing to hoard as much as she could onto her person. She picked a flaky biscuit topped with what looked like bits of cheese and dried fruit. Rey took a bite, skeptical. Her tongue burst at the flavor wrought from a simple bite, taste buds she didn’t know existed were tingling. She stuffed another biscuit into her mouth. And another. And another. She wants to let Finn know what she discovered. Excitement bubbled in her lower belly…. Force, Finn would probably love this! She can imagine him complimenting her, affectionally calling her ‘Peanut.’ Where was he now? She craned her neck, searching for his familiar leather jacket.

 

After finagling through another entourage of pinched-nose women, Rey reached the corner where Finn, Poe and Rose were at. She eyed the easy dynamic between the three with hesitancy. Since her return from her short apprenticeship under Luke, Rey has felt the easy camaraderie she shared with Finn dwindling. “Finn!”

 

“Rey? _Kriff_ , I was looking all over for you!” his teeth gleam as he rushes to embrace her.

 

Rey feels her apprehension dissipate. Finn _came back_ , he won’t abandon their friendship too easy. “Try looking harder,” her lips quirk, “I wasn't hiding. Here,” she opens her gloved palms, the appetizer a little mushed, “I tried these bread things and they are amazing. You have to try one.”

 

Finn only raises a puzzled brow from beneath his green mask.

 

Rey jostles her wrists a bit. “C’mon Finn, it’s not going to bite.”

 

With a half shrug, Finn pops a morsel in his mouth. His eyes widened. “Wow Rey! You’re right these are pretty great.”

 

Interest piqued, Rose asks Finn if she can try some. “Whoa,” she’s looking at Rey with sparkles in her eyes and Rey suddenly feels a bit of embarrassment. Poe catches her flush and winks at her.

 

“Rey, we got something for you too,” Finn hands her a frothing drink. “Trust me, _way_ better than the shit they hand out at the Resistance base.”

 

“Oh,” she brings the drink to her nose and her stomach lurches. Finn is looking at her expectantly. Even Poe and Rose have a bit of excitement in their eyes as if she’ll just swing her head back and inhale the beverage in one gulp. “I’m sorry guys, I can’t.”

 

Finn looks genuinely confused. “Why not? Like you said, it won’t bite.”

 

“I just—I found the truth about my parents. They sold me for booze.” Rey relays this piece of information bluntly. “The thought of even drinking makes me sick. I’m sorry.”

 

The mood suddenly shifts and Rey knows she said the wrong thing. They were at a party for kriff’s sake! This was neither the time nor the place to bring up her pitiful history. She should have spun some perfunctory story of how she’s a lightweight instead.

 

“Rey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you to explain,” Finn reaches to put a comforting hand on her shoulder and Rey flinches. She can’t stand the look in their eyes right now, like she’s some broken creature.

 

“I—um—I need to go talk to some of the benefactor’s. I just wanted you guys to try the food,” Finn looks hurt. “I’ll probably see you guys in a bit, okay?” Rey quickly turns the other direction, ready to crawl out of her skin. Why in such a crowded space, does she feel so alone?

 

Pressure builds behind her eyes. Force, it’s not even a big deal. She shouldn’t be hurt by this. She feels a tap on her shoulders. Her heart jolts. She turns her head to the intruder and the rapid beat of her heart promptly quells. It’s another guest. He has a baby face and watery blue eyes that peer at her through a silver mask. 

 

“My, my, my what is a beauty like yourself doing out here unattended. He leans closer, hot breath wafting in front of her face with the slight rank of alcohol. She doesn't say anything, hoping the state in her eyes is enough to convince him to back off. He offers a crooked half smile which has probably induced many members of her sex swoon but only served to make Rey cringe. There’s a rush of anger combined with her earlier frustration and sadness. It swirls around her, a pulsing dark force. “Does a princess like yourself need a prince to save you? I'd whisk you away to a castle.” _Or more aptly,_ she thinks, _his chambers._

 

Rey tightens her fist imperceptible and the soft-faced man emits a broken whimper, clutching his groin. His face is stricken. "What—"

 

"This princess doesn't need a prince." She lets go and he falls to his knees, panting. "I suggest you don't harass women anymore or you might find yourself in need of _saving_."

 

_I don’t think Skywalker would approve of your use of the Force._

 

Rey whips her head. Did the darkness consume her so much for her not to feel the change in pressure of their bond? She searches for the familiar uncanny superposition of his form onto the ballroom and doesn’t find it.

 

Her blood runs cold 

 

Maybe he wasn't speaking through a force bond—

 

She scans her head in fear, anticipation and another emotion she is cannot name.

 

—and her field of vision narrows singularly to the figure half obscured in the corner. Her heart stills. She sees the silver of his scar inching from under an elegant bird-like mask and she _knows._

Kylo Ren is at the masquerade.  


	2. Chapter 2

Rey likes to think that she’s a simple person. While others may contend over the complexity of life, Rey files things into compartments. Back on Jakku, life was uncomplicated. She would forage for valuable parts to offer to Plutt, receive her two portions and repeat. It was an expected and trite cycle. She wasn’t particularly happy with her life, sure. But she believed that one day she will be, and that was all that mattered. When Rey abandoned her routine on the wastelands of Jakku, she searched for an analogous principle. These are ideas she was certain of: The Resistance are the _good_ guys; the First Order are the bad guys.

 

Kylo Ren is supposed to be evil. Their subsequent Force connection, however, has irrevocably beat, crushed (and for good measure) set that kriffing idea ablaze until it was nothing more than a paltry speck of dust. After their standoff, she didn’t want to examine his conflicted emotions. He chose to be Supreme Leader of a genocidal regime; therefore, he is bad. Simple.

 

So when Rey recognized Kylo Ren’s shadowy figure in the corner, her thoughts oscillated from exposing the position of Kylo Ren to any unfortunate passerby to treating his appearance like how she would a Force connection, ignoring him. By the time Kylo approached her, her mouth opened and closed like a fish gulping for air.

Even in heels, he stills succeeds in dwarfing her. He rakes his gaze down her form. She feels the heat of his slow perusal. “Fitting.”

 

Rey flared her nostrils. Kylo took this as an initiative to continue.

 

“From desert rat to the Resistance’s princess,” he spits. “I’m not surprised you easily complied with the Resistance whims, like a dog. What did they do to convince you? Did they tell you how important this dinner was? That you _mattered_?” He must have seen something in her gaze because his eyes widened. “They probably didn’t even need to, did they? You want a home… a _family_ ,” he says the word like it’s a curse. “You would get down on your knees and slit your throat for them if they asked.”

 

Rey deigns to ignore his comment; she doesn’t want to examine how close to the truth he hit. “I see that you’ve traded one mask for another. Your face is a reminder of the past you still can’t escape.” They are harsh words, meant to hurt. It’s interesting that only a few short cycles ago, she confided in him parts of herself that she’s never shared with another human before. Now they have reverted back to enemies, their vulnerabilities used as weapons against one another.

 

Kylo barks a laugh, the sound is forced and grating to her ears. “This mask is for _your_ benefit. I don’t think that your tag-team of criminals your hold so dearly would appreciate you fraternizing with the Supreme Leader of the First Order.”

 

“I think what you deem ‘fraternization’ would be better served under ‘harassment.’”

 

Kylo parted his mouth, ready to offer another cutting quip. He shuts it instead, deciding better against it. Rey internally applauds his tact. “Aren’t you curious?” he says this softly, injecting a melodic touch to his voice as someone would do when approaching a stray cat. “The Force bond was meant to die with Snoke, yet it seems to connect us from the beyond. Either Snoke lied or—”

 

“The bond _is_ dead! I killed it when you decided to refuse to turn to the Light.”

 

Kylo Ren was momentarily stunned, mouth parted and brows raised. He clenched and unclenched his hands. “You insipid, little—” he sputtered, face flaming. Rey observed his outburst with a calm detachment, like how a mother might wait for a child to quiet their tantrum. Kylo drew in a breath like he expected to encounter her belligerence. “A Force bond doesn’t work like that. You can’t just _ignore_ it. You’ve felt it, I’m sure,” he reaches his hand toward her face before curling it into a fist and letting it fall. “The agony of blocking its inception.”

 

Rey stared at him, mutely. “Kylo, why are you here? I haven’t changed my mind. I won’t join you—”

 

“Don’t get too conceited, princess,” he sneers. “I didn’t come here to prostrate myself for you once again, though you’ll probably like that.”

 

“Then why are you here?” Rey seethes. “I should just alert your presence right now!”

 

“Isn’t it obvious?” he presses his palm against his face, frustrated. “Of course not. Not for you, when you’ve never had a proper teacher—”

 

“Spit it out!”

 

He draws out each word, “You are killing yourself.”

 

She stopped breathing for a second. “What?” she emits a nervous laugh. “No, I’m not. I would _know…”_

“Clearly you don’t!” he snaps. “You never stop to think, do you? You’re just so set on _blocking_ me that you don’t consider the repercussions of denying a Force bond. You’re too impulsive.”

 

She thinks back to her migraines, the discharge of blood from her nose. “I don’t know—it’s just hard. I’ll get better at building my barrier,” she snorts, “it doesn’t mean I’m dying. That’s ridiculous.” She doesn’t believe her words even as she says them. Instead of getting better adept, she’s weaker. Still, she doesn’t want to admit that Kylo is right. She couldn’t have been fighting to survive all her life only to fall at her own hand.

 

“You can’t escape me,” she thinks he would sound pleased, but he sounds sad. “We are still connected,” he waits. “We might always be connected.”

 

She makes a weird noise. “There’s no way to end it?” she imagines a distant future, their paths diverging. An unwilling voyeur to Kylo with other women. She doesn’t understand why her stomach turns at the thought.

 

“I don’t know what the Force wants from our connection. There’s a purpose behind it, but I still haven’t developed any theories.” There’s something in the lilt of his voice that makes her think he’s lying, but she doesn’t comment on it. “The other way to end it is through death.”

 

Rey inhales sharply. “Oh.”

 

Kylo doesn’t say anything. The strength of his stare is enough.

 

She swallows, “Well, you’ve come to say what you wanted. You can leave.”

 

Kylo bares his teeth. “Of course, your highness,” he extends his gloved fingers in a mock bow “My only endeavor as Supreme Leader is to protect the Resistance’s symbol of hope.”

 

His sarcastic reply undermines any civilized foundation they might’ve built. “Don’t think that just because you’ve saved me that I’ll turn the other cheek,” she says. “I won’t hesitate to end you. I’ll let your mother know—”

 

Kylo interrupts her, leaning down to brush his mouth against her ear. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he starts, each word caressing her like a kiss. There is something much more eerie about a calm, angry Kylo. His barrage of rage is predictable, something Rey expects and can effectively retaliate against. A coolheaded Kylo is one that’s in control. In this, the discrepancy of experience between them is much more emphasized. Rey is very much aware of the fact that she is at a disadvantage here, constrained in a tight dress with only her mind as her weapon. “The people at this event. The people that you’re supposed to lick the shit off of their shoes just so that your precious Resistance can rub more than two paltry coins together… they don’t care. This is all a game to them. There is no First Order, no Resistance. It’s all about what groups can get them the most money.”

 

Rey breathed heavily, vainly trying to contain the whirlwind of her emotions.

 

He leans back on his heels. “Tell me, what do you think will happen when you get their favor? When your radical team succeeds in defeating the First Order? Do you think peace would suddenly reign once the last TIE fighter has fallen? Once the last Stormtrooper takes his breath?” his eyes adopt a hard glint. “You already know the answer and it hurts you. It’s not full of _hope._ Not even a little bit.

 

“You’ll exchange one ruler for another.”

 

Rey vehemently shakes her head. “No, _no._ You’re wrong! Anything is better than the First Order. You’re killing people –”

 

“What? The Resistance isn’t killing people?”

 

“Not mindlessly, not needlessly. You can’t compare the two groups.”

 

“You’re still denying the truth when it’s right in front you. The First Order isn’t the oppressive regime you should be fighting against. Where do you think we get funds to make weapons that decimate entire galaxies?”

 

Rey’s mouth twists bitterly. Kylo continues.

 

“They’ll gladly hand you a sizable donation, knowing that you’ll hand the money right back to them. The indentured laborers working for these people don’t care if it’s the First Order or the Resistance calling the shots. They’ll still be in the same position regardless, barely getting by just to live in the same misery the next day. It’s cyclical.”

 

Rey’s frustration increases. If she were to agree to Kylo’s vision of the galaxy’s fate, then it would undermine everything that she’s fighting for. She’s not ready to give that up yet and her response is spiteful. “Like you would understand what it’s like to be hungry? You, a privileged boy, with two loving parents and a full belly before you go to bed? Don’t presume to lecture me on misery. Not when I felt gnawing hunger before that I wished for a quick death just so that the pain would stop.”

 

Kylo opened his mouth, then shut it. “You’re right.”

 

Confused by his sudden acquiescence, she utters a measly, “What?”

 

“You’re right. I don’t understand. I apologize.”

 

The tension between them diminishes a bit. She doesn’t know what to say. “Well, I… I think I have to be somewhere,” she offers lamely. “You should still go,” she narrows her eyes. “I won’t block the Force connections if they come anymore, but I’ll still ignore you.”

 

There’s a spark in his eyes when he brandishes the cream-colored paper between his fingers. “Sorry to disappoint you, princess. You’re not the only one that has business to complete.” Rey’s heart drops.

 

Kylo didn’t crash the party, he was invited to it.

 

—

 

Rey leans against the embellished wall, nursing a red punch dappled with fruit as she rifles through her newly acquired information. Kylo’s analysis on the elite hit a lot of points Rey already has suspected. He hasn’t introduced anything new, not really. He just confirmed what was already there, clear under the thin veil of garnish and glitter. Still, the Resistance doesn’t have a chance in defeating the First Order with sticks as their weapon. They would still need the money from the benefactors at this part, however reprehensible it may be. Regardless of what Kylo may have externalized, the First Order’s vision of the galaxy is much bleaker than the Resistance. At least the Resistance is waxing a narrative of _hope._ Even if all else fails, people will die with the thought that _it will get better._ Rey would give her life for that spark of hope to live on. It’s certainly what has been keeping her afloat.

 

She reaches the end of her fruity drink, shuffling through the ice and slurping audibly. She makes a slow appraisal of the blooming crowd, telling herself that she’s searching for no one in particular. She finds him standing in the midst of a throng of smartly-dressed men. He towers over everyone. His aura fills the far reaches of the room, outside even the broadness of his frame. She wrinkles her nose. He’s holding a flute of expensive alcohol in one hand and using the other to shake hands with a plump man. He pauses his exchange to take a sip of his beverage. The action much more elegant than Rey could ever imagine attempting. She tries to ignore the way the curve of his mask emphasizes the pout of his lips. It’s not fair. He’s a man. He shouldn’t be able to have such full lips.

 

She stabs her straw in a cubed fruit nestled in the corner of her glass.

 

She watches as Kylo moves away from the pink-faced man to a gaggle of women. Rey cranes her neck, trying to find a window when her line of sight becomes obscured.

 

"Rey," it’s Poe.

 

She stiffens, recalling the awkward conversation she had with him, Rose and Finn moments before. He raises his hands in mock surrender.  “Don’t worry, I’m not here to press you from before.” Rey presses her lips together. “Kriff, I’m already mucking things up, aren’t I?” he shares a shy smile, dimples prominent.

 

Rey relaxes, twirling her straw around her empty drink. “No, it’s fine,” she smiles back, extending a truce. “I’m too sensitive for my own good. What’s up?”

 

Poe’s famous charming demeanor returns.  “Rey, your past – scavenger or whatever. It doesn’t matter. You’re incredible! I still get the image of you lifting those rocks out of my head. Wow,” he looks at her from under his lashes. “It’s you, Rey. You’re what’s going to save the Resistance.”

 

Rey flushes, slightly uncomfortable. “I – ugh,” she starts articulately. “Thanks Poe, but I think you’re giving me too much credit. It’s all of us, I think, that will contribute to the Resistance success. I don’t have the same strategical mind as you and General Leia, nor the tenacity of Rose, or Finn’s grit. I was just lucky enough to be born with the Force, I guess,” she offers a cheeky grin.

 

Poe shakes his head, taken back by her humbleness. “Rey, the Force chose _you._ It’s more than luck, it’s –” he stops. “I’m getting too ahead of myself. I came here to ask you to dance, with me,” he added as if the person in question wasn’t already obvious.

 

Of all the questions Rey expected Poe to ask, she didn’t expect this. She had the barest inkling of Poe’s possible infatuation with her. The lingering touches, the easy smiles…. he would be the first to volunteer himself when she would lead the dispatch for a mission. She believed his petty crush derived from an unnecessary hero-worship. He is attracted to the _idea_ of her, not her. Even so, Rey _likes_ Poe. He’s unquestionably good-looking. From the curl of his dark locks to the square of his jaw, he’s what Rose dubbed, “classically handsome.” And he’s _good._ General Leia admires him, Finn considers him his best friend and he wants hope to prevail.

 

“Poe, I – um – don’t know if I can. I don’t want to embarrass you. I can hardly stand on my two feet in these shoes, let alone dance.”

 

Poe takes a step towards her, opening her line of vision to Kylo. “I wouldn’t say you ‘embarrass’ me. I don’t think you could. I’ll lead you, Rey,” his face looked so earnest.

 

“It’s not just that, Poe. It’s –” she sees Kylo, conversing intimately with a woman in a red ballroom gown. She giggles and giggles, arching herself towards him. So this is what he likes, some simpering girl that views him as a god. Her stomach twists. His lowly confessions, her innermost secrets, they meant nothing. Another way for him to manipulate her. Kylo says something else, casually brushing his lips against her ears and Rey feels like she might vomit.

 

Poe raises a brow. “It’s what?” he turns his head. “Are you looking for someone?”

 

“No,” she fixes her attention on Poe. “No. I’m not looking for anyone. I changed my mind, Poe. Let’s dance.”

 

His reaction was much more expected. There was a thrill in the fact that she agreed to take his hand, akin to a thrill that he might have when a mission ended successfully. Her acquiescence meant, for him, more than just a dance. It was her encouragement of his pursuit. Rey didn’t correct his assumption. Instead, she took his extended hand, its warmth apparent even through the blue fabric. He draws her close, only a finger-width of a space separating her chest from his. It’s a little too close for comfort. _He’s good for you,_ her mind supplies. _Give it a chance._

 

The music that’s playing is slightly upbeat. The couples surrounding them follow a sequence of steps, it’s a mosaic of swishing fabrics and sparkling masks. Because Rey has trouble keeping upright, Poe opted to diverge from the conformed standard and settled for a rhythmic swaying that didn’t do the music justice. “This is nice,” he murmured.

 

Rey made a noncommittal noise in agreement. Her eyes fluttered shut. She imagines a different pair of hands cupping the curve of her waist, her exposed back…. Encased in black leather.

 

She flings her eyes open. It’s best to avoid that from now on, she thinks. Regardless of her complicated swirl of emotions, it would be better for her to repress them. Kylo didn’t promise himself to her. She shouldn’t care what he does or _who_ he does it with. Poe is in front of her, the best goddamn pilot in the Resistance. She should at least respect his time, even though she doesn’t see their relationship progressing further from friendship.

 

“I’m surprised you’re spending your time with me,” she teases. “Your charisma would be better used to earn a lot of the women’s favor here.”

 

Poe preens under her comment. “Don’t get me wrong. I love interacting beautiful women under the guise of a ‘job,’ but why would I when I get to be with the most beautiful woman in the room, right here?”

 

His comment is a bit thick. Nonetheless, Rey can’t help but appreciate it, especially after feeling discombobulated over Kylo. “Well,” she spots an older woman resembling a blueberry dancing beside her, “be sure to pass your praise along before the night ends,” she jerks her head back.

 

Poe follows her line of sight and laughs.

 

“I’m crossing my fingers for a successful romance.”

 

He nods, attempting to put on a serious face. “Yes, of course, my conquest for the night.”

 

Rey relaxes more. Poe is fun and easy to talk too. It’s refreshing to banter about inconsequential things, especially in such a turbulent time. She’ll be sure to clear his misunderstanding of her interest after the dance. Poe opens his mouth to say something else when a jarring hand is pressed against his shoulder, halting Poe mid-step.

 

His Force signature is jagged and violent. She’s floored by the intensity of it and nearly takes a step back. “What –” she wasn’t sure if it was Poe or herself that voiced that question.

 

“I’ll step in here.” The statement is flat, leaving no room for objection.

 

There’s a pause then Poe laughs. “I believe that I’m dancing with Rey right now. You can ask her _permission_ after the song ends.”

 

Kylo’s next statement is much more forceful. “You will apologize for taking up Rey’s precious time. You’re scum not worthy enough to shine the scoff off of her shoes. Then you will leave and forget this conversation.”

 

Poe’s following words were hollow, like there was someone else moving his mouth for him. “I’m sorry for taking your precious time Rey,” his steps robotic as he moves away from her.

 

Rey watches this interaction flummoxed. She’s frozen as Kylo inappropriately uses the Force to coerce Poe to comply with his orders. It’s sickening, witnessing perhaps one of the most powerful fighters in the Resistance easily dismantled by choice words. Imagine if Kylo had ordered him to take a knife and thrust it upon himself. Poe would follow his commands in the same hollow manner, unaware that his will is being controlled. Rey raises her index finger, voice high. “If you think that your little act will induce me to comply to dance with you then you’re not just evil but absolutely demented too.”

 

“No,” he says through clenched teeth. “You _will_ dance with me because you want to maintain your appearance at this event. You wouldn’t want to let your precious general down, not when she’s had so much _hope_ for you.”

 

Rey looks around the room. He’s right. His little show captured the attention of many spectators. It would lead to unnecessary and ruinous gossip if she were to deny his hand now. Still, she nearly denies him. It would serve him right for being so presumptuous. She isn’t a damsel-in-distress that submits to the first man that comes her way, but she doesn’t want her pride to be the thing that lets the entire Resistance down.

 

“Why are you doing this anyway?” The Resistance’s success isn’t the only reason she grudgingly takes his hand. She’s not that valor. There’s something about his earlier performance that enticing. It’s an acknowledgment that surges equal parts shame and excitement within her. “Don’t you have important ‘businesses to attend?” To her annoyance, she recalls the group of women he was mingling with earlier. 

 

“I find that there are other pressing matters that warrant my attention,” he takes the first step and Rey stumbles a bit, embarrassed. It doesn’t escape her notice, however, that he didn’t really answer her question.

 

“It’s your downfall,” she steps on his foot. “I can’t dance.”

 

She feels a frisson of pain wafting from his end of the bond. His next words are carefully measured. “Your shoes are merely apparatuses you must wield. Don’t treat them any different like you would a weapon. Just match my steps,” he smiles darkly. “If you could take me down with your first swing of a lightsaber, then this should be child’s play.”

 

She shakes her head, reluctant to believe him. 

 

“Come on Rey, don’t let this be the thing that incapacitates you. Show everyone in this room that you’re a goddess meant to be reverend. Not someone that’s half-hidden in the corner, doing the occasional magic trick.”

 

It’s the first time he said her name all night and it does funny things to her insides. 

 

“Ok,” she’s ashamed to find that her voice cracks.

 

“That’s it, princess,” he pulls her in closer, body flushed against his. The upbeat song ended in place of something sultry. She feels the passion and agony that comes with love in the woman’s croon. 

 

Kylo’s manipulation of her body makes Poe’s touch look innocent. Nothing about the dance sequence itself is particularly sexy. They are just following what everyone else in the room is doing, but the pressure of his hands on her waist burns. Positive that Kylo is able to decipher her feelings, she shifts her attention away.

 

“No,” he grasps her chin. “I’ve claimed you now. Focus on me and only me.”

 

She shivers from the heat of his gaze. Kylo doesn’t go easy on her. He doesn’t opt to sway from the rest of the patrons. Each step is measured and with purpose. It’s like the way he fights. Kylo’s right. The pain of her footwear and clumsiness dissipates. Somehow she’s able to match every step, meeting his moves with tricks of her own. _It’s the Force_ , she thinks. _It’s our connection that’s allowing me to do this. I absorb what he knows._

 

He slides his other hand down the curve of her back, leaving a burning trail. She closes her eyes and whimpers. He twirls her body in response.

 

They’re in the center of the ballroom now, a circle of space surrounding them for other guests to view. There’s power in this too, she muses. Different from the power of parrying her saber. This is the power that comes with being a woman.

 

She wants _more_.

 

Kylo, recognizing her intent, doesn’t let her down. He gives it to her, meeting her fervor and then some until they are flushed and panting. Their actions remind her of something she’s seen on a grainy holovid she stumbled on her scavenges. She didn’t understand the stream of images before her, a conglomerate of flesh and needy sounds. It had left a persistent throbbing in her groin that she didn’t know how to assuage.

 

“It’s over, Rey.” There’s even some smattering of applause much to her chagrin.

 

She tries to catch her breath. It’s hard to filter her emotions. She settles for curiosity. "How did you know to do that?" 

 

He freezes. “I didn’t know that our dance authorized you to claim familiarity with me. Make no mistake Rey, we’re still not _friends._ ”

 

She blinks. “Gods, I just asked you a _question._ I’m sorry your over-sized ego took it as a declaration of my undying devotion to you. Don’t worry, I never thought we were _friends_.” She attempts to maneuver from his grip on her waist. 

 

The pressure on her waist doesn’t ease. His voice is gruff when he finally responds. "My childhood consisted of shuffling from one party to the next at my mother’s whims. I was her pet. A byproduct of two of the three well-known heroes of the galaxy." He turns his head to the side. "I never liked it," he admits. "I just went to be close to her." He looks embarrassed that he revealed so much and attempts to distance himself from Ben Solo. "Better than your treasured pilot, I'm sure. It looks like he has two left feet.”

 

She ignores his final comment. His confession ignites a kindle of empathy within her. She understands the feeling of overwhelming loneliness, recalling their shared pain on Ahch-To. It still does not excuse his actions. “Ben, we all have our scars. It doesn’t mean you have to go this way.”

 

He’s quiet for a moment. “And what way is that?” his voice is chilling.

 

“I don’t have to explain it you! I’m not going to have this conversation with you again. I’ve already offered my hand up to save you. It’s time you save yourself.”

 

He scrubs a hand over his face. “I don’t need nor want your _pity_. If you continue to see things so black and white, then the Rebellion will fail again. There can never be peace. Rey,” he runs a hand through his locks. She feels his frustration through the bond. This is something he’s thought a lot about before and it’s _breaking him._ “I just – I want –” he looks imploringly at her, unable to complete his sentence.

 

She hears Poe call her name. Ignoring it, she asks: “Ben, what is it? What do you want?”

 

He focuses on something over her shoulder. His face shutters closed, mask carefully in place. “It doesn’t matter.”

 

Poe pulls at her shoulder. She turns to face him, Ben forgotten. “Hey, I’ve been trying to get your attention for a while now Rey.”

 

“Oh, hey Poe!” voice high and cheery and so unlike her current emotions.

 

“What’s got you so preoccupied?”

 

“Nothing. No one.”

 

“Okay,” he draws out, with clear disbelief. Thankfully, he doesn’t push it. “I didn’t know you could dance like that,” he starts, besotted. “It's just – whoa – if you weren’t cool enough. Also,” he blinks, “for some reason, I feel like I already asked you this, but will you dance with me?”

 

Poe’s voice fades. Rey spares a final glance to Kylo, dark form shrouded by a mass of colors. She wonders what he was going to tell her.

 

She looks at Poe’s warm face. “Sure.”

 

She misses when everything was simple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was supposed to be sexytimes in this chapter in the original draft, but i felt like it didn't fit in quite right. i have one more chapter planned and hopefully everything fits in neatly by then. please share your thoughts! i get so excited with i see a (1) in my inbox.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long! but it's a thick one! (and explicit)

It’s a vain endeavor, trying to ignore him. She’d see a blurry black figure in her periphery and do a double-take, positive that it’s Ben—only to meet the eyes of a recipient that’s rightly miffed by the Jedi’s gawk. Their encounter stirred up emotions she thought she had carefully folded into a tight little square in the depths of her mind. He’s still conflicted, unquestionably. The question now is whether Rey should be the one responsible to be the one to lift him from his darkness.

 

She remembers the stories she’d heard of Luke Skywalker, snippets that probably fall beneath the true wonder of his accomplishments. There was one that she isn’t able to cast from her thoughts, even now. It speculates that Skywalker wasn’t just able to defeat Darth Vader, a man with a hand in atrocities that stretch from Jakku to the Unknown Regions, but convinced him to resurface from the darkness. Luke _saved_ Vader, but Rey is willing to believe, Ben, with a sizable list of crimes that do not come close to succeeding Vader’s, can save himself.

 

Rey believes that there is still hope for him. She won’t give up.

 

It was inconsequential, anyhow, to dwell on him. It’s cyclical, their relationship. She should’ve realized this before imploring him to join the Resistance. It’s not an idea that’s even conceivable. How could it be? She’s asking him not to just abandon his vision, but to chain himself to the Resistance. While Kylo may be Supreme Leader of the First Order, Rey doesn’t have nearly as much power in her respective position. Still, it was unrealistic for Kylo to expect her to join him on the Dark Side. By taking his hand, she would be agreeing to irrevocably change her fundamental being. She’s not a Dark Side user, but, she soon coming to the realization, she’s not completely light either.

 

Maybe it’s time to explore something that’s not entirely light or dark, something new. A balance.

 

“So you must be the last Jedi everyone has been talking about, Skywalker’s apprentice,” it was a woman that spoke. She was dressed in red, a gauzy material that draped over her figure like second skin. Even though Rey’s objective in the masquerade was to interact with the guests, this woman was the first person that she is willing to engage with, outside of people in the Resistance and Kylo. She finds that it’s hard to mingle with others, especially with false enthusiasm (she considers, humorlessly, that she won’t be good undercover). Unlike past missions, there’s a lack of urgency in their polite inquisitions. It’s slow-build, a diffusion of persuasion. In the Niima Outpost, there would sometimes be a group of travelers that would sometimes play cards around a makeshift table. She observed their dynamic once, noting the stoic faces, the effortless lies. The masquerade was a lot like the interaction at the Niima Outpost she witnessed – a game.

 

“I wouldn’t say Jedi just yet,” Rey started. “I still have a long way to go. Master Skywalker didn’t exactly… complete my training.”

 

The woman in red gave her a slow once-over, disregarding her answer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name?”

 

Surprised by the change in topic, she uttered a measly, “Rey.”

 

“Just Rey? No surname?” Rey shifted, rattled by her line of questioning. Is there a point to this? “Where did you say you come from again?”

 

“I didn’t.” Rey grits her teeth. The woman patiently waits. “Jakku.”

 

"Jakku,” she says slowly, tasting the word. “I confess I’ve never heard of that planet before.”

 

Rey clears her throat, uncomfortable. It was hard to pinpoint this woman’s age. Her face was clear of any wrinkles or blemishes, yet it was somehow too smooth and shiny, like someone used a tool to flatten the wrinkled surface. She could be anywhere from thirty to sixty years of age. She wants to untangle herself from this woman, from her ageless too pretty face and probing questions.

 

“You know, people like that don’t deserve to live,” Rey startles out of her reverie. What is this woman talking about? She noticed that she had her gazed fixed on a servant, clearing a table off. Is this the person she’s referencing? The woman in red was standing to the side, her pose languid. “But who would clean the trash for us if they can’t?” she continues, eyes almost sympathetic. “I see your dislike for us, Jedi, but you must understand the necessity of doing this,” she takes a delicate swallow of her drink. Rey expects to find an imprint of her red lipstick, but the glass remains surprisingly clear. “Human’s aren’t good people. We are motivated by lust… power, and, above all, greed. Take that incentive away, you’re taking the very thing that motivates people to live. It’s a hard life, I’m not denying that but –” she lifts one shoulder, “— it’s the only life that’s worth living.”

 

Rey seethes, hands clenched to her sides. If Finn were here, he’d tell her to keep her mouth shut. _Just nod along, Peanut,_ he would say. _You don’t have to agree with her, but we need the money. Pay them back when you free all the Stormtroopers. When you free all the slaves…_ Rey knows that she should be quiet, she knows. “You think people enjoy being under total control, reliant on credits to make it through the day? You have got to be kidding. These are circumstances people are born in that they can never get out, no matter how hard they work. It’s certainly not because of _laziness,”_ she spits the word out. “That could have been easily you clearing that table!”

 

The woman in red remains unaffected as ever, almost as if she were expecting Rey’s outburst. “Where do you think you’re from, girl? Isn’t this what you did? Get out of your pitiful existence? Now you have risen up to become perhaps one of the most recognized faces in the galaxy.”

 

Rey is through with the idea that she is somehow more than others in circumstances similar to hers. If something literally didn’t fall from the sky—Finn—then she would still be back on Jakku, dusting off parts from the Galactic Era in hopes of receiving a portion or two in return. She would still be waiting for her long-dead junk trader parents. _Stay here. I’ll come back for you, sweetheart. I promise._ Those words would continue to circle through her head, going to bed with their echoes like a warped lullaby. What does this woman know? “You can’t apply the same ‘scavenger to celebrity’ story to everyone – as if it was a given reality – when it only happens to few people, not all.”

 

The woman’s stare pierced her soul. “You’re a rather forward little girl, aren’t you? Isn’t it your group that’s relying on _us_ for money?” she emits an artless laugh. “Your words are meaningless when you are subjugating yourself to the same money you have just spat on.”

 

Ugh, she wanted to throw her stupid drink right into her stupid pinched face! _Do it,_ a voice says, _it’s not anything less than she deserves._ It would be easy to blame the voice as Kylo’s, exploiting the dark within her, but she knows it isn’t. The voice is hers. Why shouldn’t she use the Force to let the woman spill the drink on her face, to stain her expensive dress? No one can tie the action back to her, not really. Wrath blooms beneath her chest. The woman is raising her drink to her mouth. All it would take is just the flick of her wrist…

 

“Don’t.”

 

It’s Ben.

 

“Why not?” there’s a dull ringing in her ears. “Do you know what she told me? They _know,_ Ben. They know all the people they are hurting and they don’t care!” If Ben notices the switch of his name, he doesn’t show it.

 

"Rey. _Rey,”_ he grabs her shoulders, calming her. Rey wants to sob, to scream, she settles for biting the inside of her cheek and looking off to the side. “I know, Rey. It’s not your place. Not now.”

 

"Says who? You? Like you wouldn't do the same in my position,” her response is spiteful, contrary to her true emotions. “Don’t be a hypocrite. Not to me. You would lash out immediately.”

 

He pauses. “That’s how I know. It doesn’t feel good, after. There’s just more guilt and regret,” she turns to look at him, she thinks he would be looking off, lost in his own memories, but he’s staring at her instead. She flushes from the depth of his gaze. How is this man so calm now? It wasn’t so long that she was witness to his impulsivity. She jerks from his hold, suddenly suffocating. He clears his throat, jutting his chin off to the side. “It’s time for dinner now.”

 

His words penetrate her muddled thoughts. “What?” she realizes the ringing in her ears was actually music, an oscillation between A-minor and E-major.

 

“The bells,” he clarifies. “It means that it’s time for dinner.”

 

She cocks her head, confused. "But I thought we already had dinner?” her vision focused on the now empty table where she gorged on the biscuits.

 

Ben followed her eyes. “No,” he starts, awkwardly. “That was the appetizer.”

 

She nodded, face scarlet. “Right, of course, the appetizer,” she didn’t even know what that word meant. On anyone else, the amount of biscuits Rey had earlier would induce sickness at the mere mention of food, but Rey’s stomach growls. “So that means they’ll be more food then?”

 

Ben nodded, "You’ll like it. They are serving Aurebesh soup **,** Haarshun bread, roast _shatual_ … **”** at her blank stare, he clarifies. “It’s savory, slightly umami taste. If the way you consumed the biscuits earlier showed any indication of your appetite, then you’ll find you would have no trouble eating dinner tonight,” he teases. It’s weird to see Ben like this, encouraging her excitement. Instead of acting surly, he’s thoughtful and playful. This person, she’ll share her secrets with.

 

This person, she can share the world with.

 

Troubled by the turn of her own thoughts, Rey shifts her attention to her current predicament. She didn’t know how to proceed after this. Should she follow him to the table? Should she go on her own? Ben must have seen something in her gaze because he said, “Go to your general. There should be a specific order and time that you should sit.” For some reason, he sounded almost sinister.

 

——

 

It wasn’t Leia that found her, to her surprise, but Poe. “Rey,” he waves, face open.

 

Rey realizes, quickly, that she’d wholly unprepared for the nuances of her objective. This isn’t something that she can get a crash course overnight, but a role that would take years to perfect. She shudders to think of Ben’s life. Did he go to these events every day? “So,” Rey starts, dragging the vowel out. “Are there any particular rules I should know before settling in my seat?” she doesn’t want to voice her earlier mistake. The confusion between something so minute as the difference between the appetizer and dinner. But the mistake is there, nonetheless, fueling her exchange with Poe.

 

“No, not really,” he rubs the back of his head, sheepish.

 

Somehow she doesn’t believe him. “Oh? There’s no order on what I should eat first? Or what utensils I should use? Or –” she stills struggles with navigating utensils she’s embarrassed to admit. She finds herself tempted, more than once, to shovel the food using her index and forefinger. Finn once compared her eating to a starving Bantha.

 

Poe’s response took a heartbeat too long. “There is, yeah. But Rey, I think you should just act how you normally would. They’ll like that.”

 

She stiffens. “What do you mean ‘they’ll like that?’” There was something in his phrasing that made her uneasy… that didn’t ring sincere.

 

“The way you do things – as the last Jedi – it’s interesting. You’re different.” His words grated her ears. She could barely hear the sound of her own voice over the heavy thudding of heart. It was more than anger. She felt betrayed. She reflects on Ben’s words. Is she someone that’s half hidden in the corner to be toted around for the occasional magic trick? It wasn’t Rey, herself, that warrants attention, but the phenomena that follows her. Wasn’t it clear to her already? She wasn’t granted this status, relegated to such a high position within the Resistance because of any longstanding loyalty—not someone like Poe—but because of her sensitivity to the Force.

 

"Rey, I understand your concerns. They're warranted and, to be honest, accurate. To be frank, Rey, they could ask you to dance on the table and I’ll expect you to do it with a smile on your face. We need the money. Nothing else matters at this point until we get past this hurdle.” Gone was the charismatic Poe. The Poe that boyishly asked her to dance earlier. This is Poe who would “light the fire that would burn the First Order down.” This is Poe the general.

 

Contrite, Rey mutters, “Okay.”

 

His face relaxes. The lines furrowed between his brows dissipate. “Perfect, Rey. I knew you would come through.”

 

Rey doesn’t know how to respond. She’s still reluctant to play her part, willingly entering a den of wolves. She knows she shouldn’t take it personally. After all, if it was anyone else in her particular situation, they would be treated the same. Still, she can’t help but feel used. By highlighting her ignorance, she’s complacent to the idea that she’s worthless because she doesn’t come from the same elusive pedigree as everyone else in the room.

 

Poe continues, not party to the turn of her thoughts. “You’re sitting in seat 48B by a man named Matt.”

 

She blinks. There was something… odd about that name, but she can’t pinpoint what. “No last name?”

 

“None that says here,” he’s looks at his holopad, lifting a shoulder. “Many people go by a pseudonym. It’s a masquerade, after all. Some come to this one as oppose to others purely for the anonymity it offers.”

 

Rey nods, unconcerned. Whoever it was, it will all be over soon.

 

——

 

While some people were already seated, for the most part, it was empty. Already, Rey feels like she made a mistake coming too early. She finds her seat situated in the middle of the subtly rounded table. She felt a rush of anxiety, surrounded by so many prying eyes.  _Well_ , she thinks grudgingly, _at least I have more time to myself._

 

She was left to stir in her thoughts as she waited for the rest of the seats to fill. As more and more people trickled in, she wondered who, if any, from the Resistance will sit by her. She wasn’t particularly too keen to sit by any of them, sure, but she’d take them instead of the self-absorbed filth at this gala.

 

She couldn’t place the exact time, but from one span to the next, the seats were nearly filled—except the one to her left. Irritated, she let her eyes scan the stretch of the table for a distinct bird-like mask, quelling the bubble of disappointment when her search was unsuccessful.

 

“Are you looking for someone in particular?”

 

She nearly jolts from her seat, turning to face the intruder. “You’re Matt?”

 

Ben lifts a shoulder, nonchalant. “I couldn’t very well use Kylo Ren, could I? That would turn some heads.”

 

“More than a few heads, I’m sure. Admit it, it would spell your death,” her stiff words belie the giddiness of her tone.

 

He scoffs. "I could easily destroy your group of friends without lifting a finger.” Even his own words are said in a teasing manner.

 

She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. What is wrong with her? How could she find humor in Kylo’s threat? Her next words are more solemn. “Why are you sitting by me, anyway?”

 

To Ben’s credit, he’s unruffled from her sharp change of tone. “Maybe I just wanted to hear more of your loving words.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Please. Be serious Ben.”

 

“It’s Matt,” he corrects, the low rumble of his voice sending shivers down her spine. His _voice_? Impossible. It must be the chill in the air… that has to be it. “Since it doesn’t come as much of a surprise that your group threw you in a den of lions, salivating for your ruination, I will act as your guide,” he pauses for good measure. “A teacher.”

 

Rey is uncomfortable to acknowledge the extent the truth in Ben’s critique of the Resistance so she latches on the last point of his sentence. “Teacher?” Rey makes a noncommittal noise and surveys the table. “Very well. _Master_ Ren, what should I expect first?” she watches his cheeks pink at the honorific.

 

"First,” his lips brush her ears and Rey suppresses a shiver. “They’ll set down the soup. You’ll use this spoon —” he lifts the one farthest out, “—to drink from the bowl.”

 

“Wouldn’t it be easier to drink directly from the bowl?”

 

Ben nods, nonplussed by her unabashed question. “Many cultures share your sentiments. It’s not uncivilized to drink from the bowl. In fact, I think it’s done with more grace and elegance than this. You’ll enjoy it.” There are deep lines etched in his brows, like he was going to say something else. Through their bond, she gets a thread of his thoughts. Already on the tip of his tongue, he couldn’t raise his mental blocks fast enough to conceal them. _I should take you some time._ Her heart thunders against her sternum, reflecting on all the things that could, but never will be.

 

There’s silence. Ben, to his discretion, doesn’t mention their shared musings. The servants pass out the soups, working from the middle out. Rey is not unaware of the press of inquisitive eyes, anticipating her fall.

 

“Ignore them.” There’s anger in his voice. She realizes, with a jolt, that he’s angry for _her._ Other than Finn, she can’t remember eliciting such a strong response from anyone.

 

“I am! I don’t care.” Ben gives her a look like he doesn’t believe her, but he doesn’t push it.

 

“Imitate me.” Ben takes a shallow dip into the bowl, bringing the spoon to his lips.

 

She watches, transfixed. How can this large man handle such a delicate process with poise? It shouldn’t come much as a surprise to her though. Even the way he fights is done with a deadly grace—contrary to her own fighting experience, wild and unpredictable. She emulates him, raising the spoon to her mouth. The soup is hot. She didn’t expect that. The burn of her tongue still doesn’t take away from the rich, savory taste, however. She meets Ben’s eyes, seeking approval. “Rey, try not to put your elbows on the table.”

 

There’s a sinking sensation in her stomach. She didn’t do it right. Why does she care about his opinion, anyway? He sets his hand on her knee. She can feel the heat through the thick folds of her dress. “Relax. You’re just playing a role for these guys. I don’t care how you eat.”

 

She exhales through her nose, reluctant to admit how much his words affected her. “So what’s your next lesson?” before she gives him a chance to answer, she continues.  “I imagine you must have learned all of this when you went to all those parties with your mother?”

 

He took another sip of his soup, throat working to swallow before answering her. “Not exactly. I had a tutor that would come in four times a week to teach me how the son of a Senator should behave,” his smile is bitter. “Along with my very private, _very_ expensive education at an all-boys school, I had no freedom to myself. My whole childhood consisted of other’s expectations of me. It was awful.”

 

It was a heavy burden to carry, Rey reflects. The weight of his family’s history.

 

“Your life,” she mumbles.

 

“What?”

 

She turns to face him, meeting his eyes. “Not just your childhood. Your whole life.”

 

His eyes soften. “I didn’t know my grandfather was Darth Vader until I was twenty-two,” he says the words strangely, almost as if he was ashamed.

 

“I don’t –” Rey shakes her head, confused. “How?”

 

The memory must still make Ben uncomfortable because he doesn’t say anything for a while, jaw clenched.

 

“You don’t have to answer. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain. Apparently, I still need to learn how to properly ‘socialize’ with others. Jakku wasn’t much of a social hub, as you can imagine,” Rey prattles, trying to return to their easy banter.

 

A flinty muscle jumps in his cheek. “It was an accident.”

 

Rey stops her babbles. “An accident?”

 

“It leaked to the public. Political hijinks, probably. My mo—Leia sent me a holorecording while I was training with Skywalker,” he shrugs, trying to play off as unaffected. “A Padawan had already informed me of my bloodline earlier that day.” He remembers it clearly. He was on his way to the training fields, running late after a sharp reprimand from Skywalker. Aman, the Padawan, ambushed him, pushing his face into the wet soil.

 

“I knew it! That explains why you’re such a weirdo, Solo.” Ben thrashed under the press of his hand.

 

“Are you insane? What the fuck are you talking about?” Ben managed to get out, spitting mouthfuls of dirt.

 

Aman grabs a fistful of his hair and pushes him harder. “Don’t pretend you don’t know.” They’re close enough that their noses almost touch. Ben can smell the caf from their breakfast that morning on his breath. “You’re granddaddy is Darth Vader.”

 

Ben’s ears roared. “Fuck off.” It’s a blur after that. He remembers using the Force and blood and Luke’s face, like his behavior wasn’t less than what he expected.

 

“I didn’t believe him.”

 

Rey’s heart clenched, mourning for the boy that once was Ben Solo. “Ben – what happened – you couldn’t have known.”

 

Ben’s eyes flickered away, too set in his memories to hear her. “I became everything they feared. Everything they fought against. Still fight.”

 

Rey chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. Knowing this helped her understand him a bit more. She imagines Snoke was with him this whole time. A little voice in the back of his head fueling his rage… his doubts. Everyone that he trusted failed him. Still, “Ben, your mother made a mistake. What she did was wrong. Really wrong. She still loves you though. You should forgive her –”

 

“Rey. Stop.”

 

“Ben—”

 

“Please,” his voice is strangled.

 

She closes her mouth, face hot. _Stupid_ , _stupid_ , _stupid_ , she berates herself. She shouldn’t have brought Leia up. Ben _trusted_ her and… and… She probably ruined everything.

 

“Rey, I’m not mad,” he says gently. Her thoughts are probably loud. “It’s still –” he presses the heel of his palm against his mouth, “–a sensitive topic for me.”

 

Still, she can’t shake off the pool of guilt. “No, I – I shouldn’t have pushed.”

 

The servants start to come in streams to pick up the bowls, preparing for the next course. Rey cradles her soup protectively. “I’m not done.” She wasn't sure, but it looked like Ben was trying to hold back a smile. Huh.

 

“I fear for the person that threatens to take your food away.”

 

“You should,” she says, half-serious. “If I had my staff…” This time, Ben couldn’t hold back his grin, teeth white and gleaming. It made his eyes crinkle and her heart did a delicate little flutter when his dimples flashed. Dimples! She returns his smile with one of her own. He looks back at her with… she can’t explain what… but it makes her breath catch. She looks away first, startled by her feelings. “So,” it comes out in a croak, “what’s the next lesson?”

 

There’s a clatter and then a crash. Ben raises his eyebrow at her as if asking _did you just hear that?_ before turning his head around to find the focus of his curiosity. It’s not just him, Rey thinks. Looking around, Rey notices that everyone’s attention has been diverted, favoring to witness the poor soul who committed _such_ a blunder. Rey quells the urge to roll her eyes.

 

Yeah, right.

 

She cranes her neck, trying to sneak a peek past Kylo’s large frame. All she can make out was a broken soup bowl. Its shards like pieces of a Hothian sky. “Ben,” she implores. “What happened?”

 

“Hm?” he sees her empty look. “Ah. A server accidentally dropped a bowl, I believe,” he shakes his head. “From the way these people are acting, you would think that Darth Vader himself crashed the gala.” Did _Ben Solo_ just make a joke? From the ease that it falls off his tongue, Rey realizes that this is not uncommon.

“Well, they wouldn’t be too far off the mark, would day? After all, Darth Vader’s grandson made an appearance.” Ben turns sharply, relaxing when he sees her coy smile.

 

“You’re probably right. Silly of me to forget. _Of course_ –” he leans closer, his dark hair tickling her cheeks. “The mistake of dropping a plate would take precedence anyway.” 

 

From the corner of her eye, she sees the servant… there was something familiar about him… “Rey?” Ben asks when she doesn’t say anything.

 

“Wait, I know him!”

 

He follows her gaze. “The server?”

 

She nods eagerly. “Well, actually, not really,” she rubs the pad of her thumb against her lower lip. “I saw him when I was speaking to _that_ woman earlier.” There was the sound of rustling and someone’s voice raising. She couldn’t make out what they were saying, too far to hear. But she could see, even from her awkward position, the boy’s hands. They were trembling.

 

If there was one thing that Rey can’t stand, it’s bullies. Unkar Plutt was the biggest bully she knew, growing up. Probably only Snoke surpassed him. If Snoke wasn’t dead already, she would probably travel back in time and kill him herself, with or without Ben’s help (in these fantasies she would also forcefully drag Ben along with her, although that was neither here nor there). So it was given, really, when Rey saw the opportunity to swipe the chair from under the tormentor’s ass, she took it. The loud _thunk_ of his body hitting the ground was satisfying. No one said anything for a while, most likely reeling in from the shock that there was not just one but _two_ embarrassing displays occurring consecutively. Then a crescendo of voices, each one clamoring over the other to insert their two credits worth. She could make out an awed _did that chair move by itself?_ and a monotonous voice saying _it must have been the Force_. Ben wasn’t entangled with the rest of the spectacle, covering his mouth with the palm of his hand to hide his smirk.

 

The man stood up, finger pointing accusatorily at the servant-boy. “You!” his voice was shaking, face red. Rey realized that her impulsivity may have fostered unintended consequences.

 

The boy took a step back. “Sir, I swear, it wasn’t me. Please don’t fire me. I can’t lose my job –”

 

Rey stood, chair scraping along the floor. “Leave him alone.” The man turns to her, face still red. Rey plunges on, heedless to Poe’s vigorous head-shake. “I’m the one that pulled your chair. If you want to punish anyone, then I’m your person, not the boy.” It was a useless comment to make, in retrospect. The _ton_ can’t very well _punish_ one of their guests. It’s unseemly. Still, they are holding the Resistance members by their purse-strings. There are other ways that this influential man can _punish_ her and Rey might have just struck the final nail to their coffin.

 

Rey’s suspicions are proved correct by the man’s next words, “I’m sure my donation can better be served to fund the First Order’s initiatives. At least _they_ are not a rude and impulsive group,” and with a sniff, he sat back down.

 

Perhaps it was the context of the strange disquiet around her, near palpable, that Rey became conscious of the remaining set of eyes on her. She saw Poe, with his head in his hands, beating himself over their failed mission—one that could’ve provided the jumpstart needed to propel the Resistance from their stagnation. Her eyes flickered to Leia; Rey sucks in a harsh breath at the look on her face. _Disappointment_. Leia’s disappointed in her.

 

There’s a sinking sensation in the pit of her belly as she reflects on her actions. She doesn’t regret it, no. She would do it again, easily. The painful pang of disappointing the Resistance wasn’t what she expected, though. The only family she knows.

 

She sits back in her seat with a shudder, two fingers pressed to the bridge of her nose. _What had she just done?_

 

“Rey –” she ignores his quiet plea, like he was approaching a frightened kitten.

 

She _failed_ them.

 

Her eyes sting. She starts blinking furiously, cognizant of the attention on her still. “Kylo –”

 

He flinches like she just hit him. “I didn’t know we were back to that,” though he tries to mask it, there’s hurt in his voice.

 

“Sorry – I just,” she feels like the walls are pushing in on her. “I have to go. Right now.” Every eye on her feels like the press of a hot poker. She rises, flustered, ungracefully extricating herself from their prying eyes to the nearest exit. Another room. Anywhere but _here._

Her heels echo across the marbled floor. She doesn’t spare a glance back, aimlessly moving forward—through open doors, titillated couples, until she reaches a shrouded space. It was a door, round and white. The key slot indicated that only people with granted permission had access. Rey just used the Force.

 

The pressure in her chest eased when she stepped inside, the door shutting on its own behind her. _It’s beautiful_. The thought escapes, filling the empty space. Unlike the ballroom, everything is transparent—even the floor. The skyscrapers of Coruscant below her feet, a dense concentration of luminous lights. She feels like she’s staring into the face of the sun.

 

“It only looks beautiful.” Rey’s not surprised that Ben found her. He always will. “It’s just gloss though. Beneath the glittering lights, it’s all rot.”

 

Rey turns to him, burning lights reflecting in her gaze. “I’m starting to find that appearances are deceiving. In every regard.”

 

He offers her one of his rare smiles. “I didn’t take you for a person that follows aphorisms.”

 

Rey shrugs, the edges of her lips inching upward. “You’ll find that I’m full of surprises,” she pauses, remembering her cutting behavior from earlier. “Ben, I – I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been short with you – “

 

“Rey, it’s fine.”

 

“No – I need to explain. You deserve that, at least. I wasn’t angry at _you._ I was – “

 

“You were angry at yourself,” he finishes, meeting her eyes. There was a breadth of words unsaid between them, but he _understood._ She’s not alone.

 

“Yes. I was. Still, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. The only thing I accomplished was spurring more hate. That’s the last thing I want.”

 

“What do you want?” she notices that he’s closer, a finger-width of separation between them.

 

 _I want you_. She doesn’t say that though, hugging herself instead. “I want to _–_ ” she bites the inside of her cheek, angry again “– to free the slaves they call ‘servants.’ I want the Stormtrooper program to end—so little boys like Finn would _never_ be taken away from their family again. I want little girls to live in a world where they don’t have to worry about where they’re going to get food to live through the next day –”

 

“Rey –” Ben starts, noticing her spiral.

 

She catches herself. “I want so many things, Ben, but I don’t want to ask _them_ for money. I know we need funds. If there was any other group that was less corrupt, then maybe…” she’s distraught by the fruitlessness of their situation. How can a ragtag team save the entire _galaxy?_

Following the train of her thoughts, Ben interjects. “It happened before.”

 

Rey shakes her head, confused. “What did?”

 

“The Rebels… they took the Empire down. The Empire was building a second Death Star – they led the Rebels into a trap. It was supposed to be an easy annihilation,” he shakes his head like he still couldn’t believe it. “But they won. The Rebels. A little group against a whole army.”

 

"Ben, why are you telling me this? You're the Empire in this scenario.”

 

He answers honestly. “I don’t know. I don’t… agree with the Resistance’s dogma. This tug-of-war between the Light and the Dark has only resulted in more disorder, not less. But after the death of Snoke, I’m starting to see everything a little different.” From the heat of his gaze, Rey got the impression that maybe he was starting to see _her_ a little different. More than a Force-sensitive to mold into his dark ideology.

 

Her next decision can’t be explained by any logical tact. She _wasn’t_ thinking. She acted on instinct. It was inevitable, really. The swirl of desire has been budding between them since their fingers touched on Ahch-To. Rey was never one to cower. She faced it—faced him. Standing on the very tips of her toes, she kissed him.

 

She had never kissed a man before and she wasn't exactly sure how to go about it, basing her knowledge on risqué holo-vids and the more exhibitionist members of the Resistance. Her assignation was slightly… awkward. First, Ben didn’t reciprocate, numbly standing still while Rey, undaunted, continues her ministrations. His lips were incredibly soft. With a wave of irritation, she realized they were probably softer than _hers_. Second, the passionate first kiss she’d always imagined in her girlhood was ruined by his big nose. The romantic holo-novels she’d read never touched on the barrier of noses, of all things. Third, she was hyperaware of everything. Wasn’t she supposed to _lose_ herself in this?

 

Ben pulls back. “Rey,” thrusting a hand into his hair. “What are you doing?”

 

Her heart stutters. Did she misread him? Maker, did she just force herself on him? His earlier warmth… that was probably his way of showing his appreciation to her as a person, not a _woman._ “Ben, I –” her face is flushed with shame. “I’m sorry. I thought –”

 

“You thought?” he inquired, getting impatient.

 

“I was wrong. Clearly,” she bites out. “Forget it,” she tries to bypass him, but he blocks her path. “Let me through.” This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

 

“Rey, why?” he sounds exasperated.

 

Why isn’t he letting her go? Clearly, he’s set on torturing her. “Because I wanted to, okay!” she huffed. “Are you done now? Was my complete and utter embarrassment enough to –”   

 

He cuts her off, finally kissing her back with equal fervor. There’s not a better word to describe Rey’s next reaction—she _melts._ Reaching her hands to grasp his silky locks, she thinks _so this is what a kiss is supposed to feel like._

 

He breaks away first, a string of saliva connecting her mouth to his.

 

"Ben,” her breathing is labored. “What was _that_?”

 

He doesn’t respond. He meets her for another kiss, long and deep. “I want to kiss you,” he murmurs against her mouth.

 

She blinks blearily. “Kiss me? Aren’t we already doing that?”

 

He leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her neck. “No, not your mouth,” his next actions obliterate any residual confusion. “Here,” he slides two fingers between her thighs. Rey feels her arousal notch higher. She didn’t think… there? “Will you let me, Rey?” he cajoles, rubbing a tight circle around her bundle of nerves.

 

“Yes,” the words come from far away, her senses muddled with _more._ Ben must have seen her intentions because he was already on his knees, kissing the dip of her belly – the spurs of her hips. He rucks up her skirts, settling his head between the apex of her thighs. He must’ve moved her small-clothes aside because she feels the brush of cool air on her mound. Her pulse escalates. No, this is all happening too fast. She opens her mouth to tell him so. To tell him to wait.

 

“Be—” the rest of her sentence is cut off with a strangled moan. Ben licks a long line up her slit.

 

“You taste so good,” his words are muffled. He uses two fingers to part her, sucking her engorged flesh. “I could eat you all day.”

 

“Ben,” her hands reached to fist his hair—to push him away or pull him closer, she wasn’t sure. “D – don’t say stuff like that. Hah. It’s _obscene._ ”

 

He ignores her, leisurely flicking his tongue against her clit. “You don’t know how many nights I imagined you. Like this. Splayed out for me, crying my name,” as if it was scripted, she cries his name again. “Yes,” he slides a finger inside her. “Just like that,” curling his finger, he continues his filthy words. “What would the Resistance think, hm? If they saw their exalted princess with her legs spread for the Supreme Leader.”

 

“Oh Gods, Ben,” his dirty words only serve to tighten that knot in her lower belly. Everything feels so sensitive. With her free hand, she moves under her dress to pinch her nipple.

  

“Would the Pilot still ask you for a dance? When he sees my fingers buried in your tight cunt?” he pushes another finger in, her body wet and slippery enough to take him.

 

“Please,” she didn’t know what she was begging for. “ _Please_.”

 

He crooks both fingers and sucks on her clit, _hard._

 

“Fuck!” she knows she must be pulling his hair hard enough to yank it from its root, but she doesn’t care. She can’t _think._ Her eyes reverse to her skull and her body spasms and… there are no words. Never. _Never_ had anything she’d ever given herself was like this. Not even close.

 

She’s still convulsing – little shudders – when he gets back up, using the back of his hand to wipe the wetness from his mouth. How _lewd._

 

“Ben,” she rests her arms against the rails. What did they just _do?_ Maker, she thinks, looking down onto the city, the people that could’ve seen them.

 

“No one could see us from up here,” he snaps.

 

Force, he looks hurt. No, _no._ This isn’t some godforsaken fairy-tale. She’s not going to go run off with him into the sunset at the end. They’re still on opposite sides of the war!

 

“Rey, I don’t care about that. Not anymore,” she chanced at a look at him. Here was a man with the galaxy at his fingertips and he wasn’t happy. “I don’t care about this title. This _kriffing_ war.” To emphasize his point, he rips the mask off his face and throws it to the ground. “It’s you, Rey. It’s always been you.”

 

Her heart stops, “Ben—”

 

“Let’s run away together. Just you and me. Forget about the Resistance and the First Order. I’m not even asking you to agree to my ideals. I just want _you,”_ he cups her cheeks, peppering her with kisses that feel like the brush of a butterfly’s wings.

 

He’s desperate, she realizes. Honest. How tempting it was to say yes to him. It would be so easy to leave everything and run away. With him. Where she’s meant to be, all along. “Ben,” she pushes her forehead against him, voice sad.

 

“Rey, _no._ Don’t do this, not again. I lied to you, earlier—I promise for the first and last time. I didn’t come just because of the Force-bond. I came _for you._ I missed you.”

 

“Ben,” her cheeks are wet, or his—she’s not sure who. “I can’t join you. Not yet. The servant boy… it made me realize that I can’t stand back and do nothing. Not when I have so much power to help. I can’t do nothing, Ben. I can’t. That’s not who I am,” she tastes herself on his lips. “It’s not what I want to do. It’s what I _must_ do.”

 

He lets go of her and steps back, face shuddered. “Why don’t you head back then, first? I don’t want you to get into any more trouble if we walk out together.”

 

She nods, taking hesitant steps out the door. They don’t say goodbye.

 

She can’t help but think that she has made a terrible mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, the hand wipe was inspired by Kylo Ren wiping his mouth after Rey experiences rain for the first time IRL. the sexual imagery in the last jedi it's just... yum. i can't. 
> 
> one more chapter (hopefully). let me know what you guys think! it makes my day when i read your comments :) (and i love getting kudos too)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, it's been over a month since i last posted. for some reason, it was hard for me to finish the last chapter. i'm sorry for the long wait. thank you all who wrote sweet comments and kudos. it truly does brighten my day.

In the Resistance base, there are no private quarters—they can’t afford it. There’s over two-hundred of them packed like a can of sardines—from their lowest-ranked supply runners to the high-ranked officials. Two-hundred of them, each in their respective bunks, supplied with scratchy sheets and stiff pillows. Two-hundred of them and Rey thinks she’s the only one awake, staring blankly into the standard bunk above hers.

 

There’s only the sound of the whir of the hull’s engine and the subdued snores of her bunkmates.

 

She turns, thinking. If she were back on Jakku, she would be asleep in her AT-AT, worn out from a day of scavenging. There’s not much she misses from Jakku. Why would there be? The place only holds memories of pain and suffering, of half-hope dreams that would never come to fruition. If someone wanted to scrape that bit of her past with a blunt end of a saber, she would heartily let them.

_Let the past die._

But she misses the privacy on Jakku. Sure, the idea was very much ‘every man to himself.’ She never interacted with the other scavengers, competitors for food. But she misses the privacy, especially now. When, in her fatigue, she can’t keep the memories at bay. Ben Solo, feeling the pressure of his hands on her thigh, the stubble of his jaw on the soft flesh of her cunt…

 

She slides her fingers past her leggings, giving into the memories. This is always how this starts, an uneven mix of arousal and regret.  Her eyes flutter shut, trying to return to that night. She plays with the sparse, wiry hairs on her mounds, tugging and pulling, before moving down to touch her clit. The first touch is like a zap through her body. Her body almost recoils from the intense stimulation. She returns, undaunted—lightly strumming her clit, teasing herself. She backs off then comes back, building the coil in her belly. Her middle finger circles her opening before sliding in, feeling her muscles stretch and then grasp around her.

 

Her breath hitches. A Resistance member in the bunk next to her shifts. How debauched, touching herself in the presence of her comrades. For some reason, she can’t bring herself to care. She turns on her stomach, pressing her face against the pillow to stifle any involuntary sounds. On Jakku, she would howl and yell, babbling incomprehensible noises as she climbs to her peak. Here, she doesn’t have that luxury. There are some things she has the presence of mind to keep private.

 

She lifts her hips, pushing her finger deeper… sliding another… curling them. She’s rough, thrusting her fingers harder, faster. It’s like a string being pulled taunt. Her back is arching higher… and higher. She’s so close. She feels it. _Yes, right there._ Then, like a scene from some melodramatic holo-vid, Ben’s face flashes. Hurt. Dejected.

 

And it goes away.

 

 _How ironic_ , she thinks bitterly. _He’s the one that spurs my arousal and crushes it._

It’s been three weeks since the masquerade… since she saw him. She waited for him to come back, to return to his seat with a snarky quip. Rey waited. She waited after the roast _shatul_ was served. She waited when the servants refilled everyone’s wine for the _nth_ time. She waited under the hot press of curious eyes, under the muffled whispers and under the heavy weight of disappointment. 

 

She waited.

 

She remembered the final course being passed. A delicate, frothy cream decorated with bits of fruits. Any other time, she would’ve scarfed it down, a slobbering mess. She didn’t touch it.

 

Now, she’s absentmindedly rubbing her clit. More out of comfort than anything provocative, really. She exhales, tired. It seems like anything she does, or sees, brings him to mind.

 

After the masquerade, she locked herself in the ‘fresher of the _Falcon_ and cried. The tears were a relief. A privilege. This went on for some days, like a ritual. She’d go to the dingy ‘fresher, cry, and come out with her eyes swollen and red. Eventually, Finn approached her.

 

“Look, Rey, I don’t know what happened at the masquerade. If it’s about the servant or…” he shakes his head and backtracks. “Or whatever. But if it’s about the servant, forget it. Poe is dumb. I mean, he’s really, _really_ awesome but, yeah, just dumb. No one blames you—hell, I would’ve done the same. I hate people like that, Rey. You know, people like Phasma, General Hugs, Kylo Ren—”

 

Rey flinched. Finn notices.

 

“Kylo Ren… Is that what this is about, Rey? Did that bastard do something?” his eyes widened, realization dawning. “Was he at the masquerade?”

 

“Finn. Stop, no. Just—” Rey shakes her head. “It’s not about the servant, okay? It’s nothing. Not anymore.”

 

Finn looks at her skeptically, but doesn’t bring up Kylo again. “You’re my first friend, Rey.”

 

Rey smiles. “Yeah, I know that. You’re mine too. That’s never going to change.”

 

“Good.” Then, “I’m here if you need to talk.”

 

For an instant, Rey saw how easy it would be to tell him everything: The Force bond, Ben at the masquerade, her doubts… her loneliness.  Finn would understand, she reasoned. She’ll finally have someone to share her burden with.

 

It’s interesting, Rey thinks. She has survived near starved on an arid planet for most of her life, only to fall apart from a broken heart.

 

She doesn’t tell Finn anything. “I know that Finn,” she had said instead. “You’re the first person I’ll go to if I needed anything.”

 

It wasn’t until much later that she realized she had lied to him. No, he wasn’t the first person she’d go to.

——

Rey was chewing on a teeth cleansing tablet when the order came.

 

“Leia summoned you.”

 

She spits in the sink. There was still the taste of fluoride in her mouth when she asked, “This couldn’t wait until after I was dressed?”

 

He was a recruit, probably. He had that telling wide-eyed expression—full of idealistic hope… like any moment he would be revered a hero, like _Luke Skywalker_!

 

Part of her wants to tell him that Luke Skywalker was an old, cynical hermit who tried to kill his nephew.

 

The recruit draws into himself, unsure. Immediately, Rey feels contrite. Stars, he probably told all his friends that he was meeting _the last Jedi_ and she squashed his romantic illusion with her grumpy behavior. It’s not his fault that she’s in a perpetual gloomy mood. She made her decision that night in the masquerade. She chose the Resistance… She didn’t choose him.

 

“Sorry,” she offers a sheepish grin. She almost wants to ruffle his hair. They’re probably the same age. What is she turning into?  “I’m not a morning person.”

 

He throws an arm behind his head in a gesture she reads as _no harm done_. “No worries. I shouldn’t have barged in. Got a little too excited, I think,” he hastens to defend.

 

Rey almost smiles. She forgets, sometimes, how far her influence extends in the Resistance, even outside of it. Her very existence stirs the myth of Jedi, especially for girls—young and old—hoping to aspire to be like her. Part of her wants to encourage their romantic fantasies, stoke the kindle of hope. When you work hard, she would tell them, the possibilities are infinite. Another part, a more cynical wizened version, wants to tell them it isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be. 

 

“Well,” she starts, patting any flyaway strands. “Lead me to her. I wouldn’t want you to fail your very first task, after all,” she teases.

 

She can see the relief in his shoulders as he starts his trek to General Organa’s office.  Rey wishes she can take some of that consolation for herself. Her stomach is a tangled web of nerves and anxiety. What does Leia want to see her for?

 

———

 

Leia could be dancing upside down in a tutu with a Kashyyyk and she would still be the modicum of elegance. While Rey has seen Leia in passing—around the mess hall, nursing on her go-to drink, Arkanian sweet milk—she hasn’t had a private meeting with Leia since before the masquerade.  It wasn’t just her reaction at the masquerade that spurred Rey’s snub, but perhaps a bit of discomfort as well. She can’t look into Leia’s eyes knowing what her son has done to her… how he touched her. Even now, her cheeks pink.

 

“You called me, General.”

 

Leia smiles, a slight curl of her lip. “How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Leia,” her fingers clasp, the glitter of the gold band around her fourth finger shines. Her wedding ring, Rey thinks. “I won’t answer you next time you ignore my request. That, I can promise.”

 

A little part of Rey thrills at the thought of being on such familiar terms with Leia. It was the part of Rey that was still seeking for that elusive mother. “Leia,” she intones.

 

“Perfect. I feel like we’re going to get closer yet and it wouldn’t do for you to continue calling me General.”

 

Puzzled, Rey scrunches her eyebrows together. What did she mean by that? Leia must have understood the expression on her face because she does a weird mouth thing. It reminds her of Ben.

 

“Well, I don’t – how are you, Rey? I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

 

Rey considered giving Leia her canned response. _I’m fine. I’ve just been tired as of late. Isn’t there a party at a cantina tonight to celebrate your latest successful supply fun? I might see you there, actually._ Rey realized that when people ask how you are, they aren’t seeking for the truth, not really. It’s only a polite greeting. A hollow ritual. Rey opens her mouth then shuts it. Maybe it was because of the way the Leia looked too much like _him,_ or it was her kind, encouraging smile – a treasure in Rey’s despondent last couple of weeks, that she says, “No, I haven’t been feeling well actually. It’s just hard finding the necessary motivation… something is missing. I’m sorry if it has been affecting my work.”

 

Leia shakes her head, eyes sympathetic. “I didn’t call you here to reprimand you. This isn’t about your work. In fact, if anything, I should commend you. You’ve done so much in the drastic change you’ve gone through.”

 

Either it was the way that Rey was holding herself, or she could sense it through the Force because she said, “Oh, Rey,” in a voice she imagines her mother would have said if she were comforting her. It was probably that exact tone or image or both that prompted Rey to mutely allow Leia to envelop her into her arms. “It’s okay.” After gently rubbing her back and making soothing croons, Rey calmed, extracting herself from her arms.

 

“I actually wanted to talk to you about the masquerade.”

 

Rey doesn’t say anything. Her mind too busy whirring: is it about servant? About Ben? Rey shuts her eyes, almost as if she was expecting this.

 

“It’s not what you’re thinking –“ Leia furrows her brows. “Maybe I shouldn’t start there. I think I was around your age…” There’s an interruption in her speech. “Yes, when I was knee-deep into the Galactic turmoil. I watched my home planet annihilated in an instant. I’ve lost… several friends. But Rey,” her lips tremble, “I don’t regret any of it. I would never have been reconciled with my brother otherwise,” she chuckles. “Despite our quarrels, I would’ve never met the love of my life. I would’ve never had Ben.”

 

Rey feels her breath hitch. “Gen – Leia, I mean no disrespect, but I don’t understand –” 

 

Rey hears a rustling sound, then a paper being slid across the brown table. “Open it.”

 

Rey reaches for the slip of paper. It’s an envelope, thick and expensive. She opens her mouth, then shuts it. Why is Leia handing her this? Is it another invitation? When Rey finally manages to open the envelope, it isn’t a delicate unraveling, but a hacking. The rich paper unfurls to reveal a card.

 

_4.81500, 162.34200_

 

That was all that was written.

 

“It’s an exuberant amount of money,” Leia starts, cutting off Rey’s thoughts. “Someone at the masquerade must have really liked your actions.”

 

Rey didn’t respond. She stared mutely at the piece of paper. Yes, it’s a significant amount of money. More than enough to allow the Resistance to come from their slump. It’s not just credits, though.

 

They’re coordinates.

 

She looks back on Leia. Suddenly, her decision has never been more clear. She knows what she has to do. “Leia – “

 

Leia shakes her head, placing an item in her hands. “I just want him to be happy. Rey… I think you can.”

 

Rey wants to argue. The Resistance needs her, right? When she opens her mouth to protest, no words come out. This was Rey’s chance… she didn’t realize it before, but the Resistance isn’t where she belongs. It’s him. “I – Thank you,” her voice wobbles. “Thank you.”

 

Rey doesn’t open her hand until after Leia leaves. Nestled in her palm, were two gold dice.

 

__

 

Not even three days have passed when the _Falcon,_ mottled with rust and scuffed with filth, makes a cluttered landing on Naboo. Rey’s heart pounds loudly beneath her ribs. The nerves that have been suspended in her hasty goodbyes and her brisk flight seem to all tumble into her at once. _What if I plugged in the coordinates wrong?_ _What if he didn’t come yet?_ and _What if he left?_

 

Like the Maker heard her worries herself, she feels it. The signature of his Force. Her heart pounds for an altogether different reason. She whips her head around, searching. There, like an ethereal entity, he’s probably not even 50 leg-spans away.

 

Neither do anything for a moment. It’s like time itself has paused with them, then, “Ben.”

 

Rey runs and she’s giddy... she’s never been happier for anything in her whole life. _He’s here. He came. He came back for you._ “Ben,” she yells and maybe her voice might be a little warbled, but… “Where did you even get that money? I didn’t know you were rolling in wealth!”

 

Finally, he seems to thaw out of his frozen state. The words fly out of a rush, “They’re the First Order’s, actually. Probably not the cleanest money, but I think it’s rather poetic that –”

 

Rey doesn’t let him finish. She pounces on him, knocking him off his feet and send them tumbling in the grass. She doesn’t hesitate. She grabs his jaw, laughing. “I love you. I love you, you big oaf of a man.”

 

Ben’s face shutters, “Rey,” he chokes. He’s never… no one has ever wanted him. He’s touched. _She came, she came, she came…_ and it’s repeating through his head and he’s sure he’s dreaming because life can’t be this good, he doesn’t deserve… and she starts to press delicate kisses down his scar and he’s sure the Force made a mistake because he’s in heaven.

 

“I love that I gave you this and I love your big nose and your perfect hair and how unbelievably sarcastic you get and no one seems to understand and I love –”

 

“Rey,” he cups her cheeks, hands gentle. “Sweetheart, why are you crying?”

 

“I don’t –” and she feels his thumb rub away a tear. She starts to laugh again. “Ben, I’m so happy. I – The Force didn’t connect us after the masquerade and I thought you were gone. Forever.”

 

Ben presses his forehead against hers. “Rey,” she swears she hears the smile in his voice. “You know that’s not true. We would’ve met in battle at some point.”

 

Rey laughs. She can’t believe that it’s _Ben_ of all people to be the one to dissuade a serious situation with a joke. She one hand from her cheeks and brushes her lips against his palm. She has so many questions to ask, so many things she wants to experience… There’s nothing stopping her, stopping them now.

 

“What made you change your mind?” Ben whispers into her hair.

 

She stills, thinking. There are many reasons. Realizations about herself and where she stands in the Force, the hypocrisy of the wealthy, her odd placement within the Resistance, clearly not fitting in. She decides to go for simple. It’s an echo of what Leia admitted, earlier. “All my life, I’ve been surviving… and waiting,” she turns, staring deeply into his eyes. “I’m done waiting. I want to be happy and, Ben, you make me happy.”

 

Ben swallows, nestling his head between her chin and shoulders.

 

“You make me happy too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> & that's a wrap. the end is too fluffy, haha, but these two deserve it. share your thoughts! 
> 
> also, i have a few things planned for future fics. i don't know if my next fic should be an AU or canon. what do you guys think? 
> 
> thank you all who have read this all the way through and suffered through my grammatical errors.


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